Reverse

by Lady Moonglow

Hermione is unexpectedly swept into a dystopian world of opposites where Dumbledore reigns as Dark Lord and Muggle technology and the Dark Arts have revolutionized Britain. A Light wizard resistance led by Tom Riddle and the Malfoys has been left to a nightmarish fate. Can Hermione, posing as her darker incarnation, help save a world more shattered than her own? HG/DM

36. A Blaise of Ire

A/N: YAY for quick updates and OVER 2,000 REVIEWS! Thanks to all of you and your kind and wonderful words, we knocked that one out of the park! Don't stop now! ;-) Also — a very warm welcome to many new readers. I'm so glad to hear you've jumped on the Reverse bandwagon; I am so excited about where this is going and I think you will be, too.

This chapter — warnings for language and sexual references.

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A Blaise of Ire

The moment her suite door slammed, Hermione huffed, "The nerve of that two-faced toad!"

Irately, she swept back to her vanity table, pretending to carefully check the state of her hair after their encounter in the case Percy had dropped a Sovereignty bug without her notice.

But her mind raced.

She needed to check for surveillance jinxes.

She needed to run to the Chamber of Secrets and summon Draco and Pansy (and perhaps even Blaise, if she could find Harry) there so Riddle could perform the Shadow Double curse on them immediately, before another Sovereignty official or House-Elves with MSR locks descended on their dorms.

She needed to release Draco from those despicable chains and that horrendous cage and be with him and — and —

But she couldn't — not until she looked at the magazine Harry had made a very clear point to leave her.

Especially since she had never brought it to his bedroom.

Casually, Hermione wandered over to the discarded Witches Vogue edition and snatched it up, gripping it tightly to keep her shaking hands steady. She flipped through it aimlessly, and it easily parted to one of the final pages. Magically tacked to the smooth paper was Blaise's thin circlet lead and a note in Harry Evans's elegant script:

Will hold him off one hour. No surveillance in common room or my room — bastard probably didn't have time. Check yours in case. Cage is open. Don't get your knickers twisted when you see him, did a Numbing spell on him until someone more bloody skilled than me can perform a Brackium charm. Vodou all immediately.

Hermione had never been gladder to have Harry Evans as an ally than she was at that very moment.

Feigning a yawn, she dumped the magazine on her vanity table beside some scattered cosmetics and nonchalantly wandered into the glamourous Head Girl lavatory. As soon as she shut the door, she dropped to the crouch and swiftly cast two undetectable charms beneath it and into her room that Tom Riddle had taught her the night before.

The diagnostics came up clear of the Dark Arts charms found on bugs and other Sovereignty surveillance equipment.

Hermione let out a relieved breath and briefly leaned her forehead against the wall, allowing her tense shoulders to slump and her trembling hands to fall to her sides.

Then she snapped back to focus.

One swift glance of the Marauders' Map told her Harry and Percy had already left the common rom. She shot back into her room and flung open the closet door. Inside, Pansy jumped and nearly dropped the pile of clothing in her hand.

"It's alright. We're safe," Hermione said swiftly, and Pansy's shoulders sunk in relief. "I'm going to the Chamber to summon you, Draco and Blaise. I want you all to wait together in Draco's old room while I'm gone; you'll be safest there, and you won't have to be alone. Bring your clothes but don't change into them. Riddle's going to perform the Shadow Double enchantment on all of you; you should look character-appropriate," she instructed rapidly as Pansy reached for the pair of jeans she'd been wearing when she'd Apparated there. "Could you grab me a practical change of clothes as well — Something I can run in?"

Pansy nodded. "Do you think he can?" she asked nervously. "Manage four Vodou puppets at once, indefinitely?"

Hermione's mind was already across the room with Draco, and she simply shrugged. "He's Tom Riddle," she said, as if that was argument enough. "He's going to bloody well have to."

Then she spun and raced to the cage, where the blond wizard was lying crumpled in the same position Percy had flung him down, his disheveled platinum hair blocking any view of his face. Her heart ached, her stomach a bundle of nerves that he'd somehow been hurt even worse than it'd seemed. She was possessed with a single thought:

Get him out.

Within a breath, she'd unlocked the door and swung it open, vanishing his chains. "Draco! He's gone!" Crouching down, she reached inside, stretching out to take his limp hand. "Come on!"

After a second, his head weakly tipped backward, as if searching for the source of her voice, but his exhausted gaze seemed muddled. Painfully weakly, he tried to drag himself toward the cage door, but his motions were unnaturally slow, heavy.

At once, Hermione remembered Percy had cast the Adfligo Curse on him. Reaching further into the cage to grip his arm, she hastily muttered a Rennervating charm and pulled backward at the same time Draco desperately lunged forward. The sudden shot of energy and momentum caused his chest and shoulders to all but burst through the cage's narrow opening, and he collapsed heavily onto her lap; beneath his weight, she tumbled the final few inches to her knees.

"Hermione—" he gasped, trying to right himself with shaking hands.

"It's alright! I've got you," she cried, digging her arms beneath his to help him heave the rest of his body from the cage as quickly as possible. "I've got you..."

As soon as Draco was free of it completely, his arms enveloped her as tightly as she was holding him, his hair and clothing nearly soaked through with icy sweat. "Hermione," he choked out again, his entire body cold and trembling, or perhaps so was hers; his pounding heart was beating frantically against her chest as if it was her own.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and buried the side of her face in his pullover, hugging him with everything she was and clinging to the sudden rush of warmth and strength that billowed inside her. She gulped in a breath of air, for the first time allowing herself to consider that this had legitimately been another very close call. "Draco, if he'd actually managed to give you that potion…!"

"I know. I know," he breathed into the side of her head, his beautiful voice as rough as sandpaper. "But he didn't. You stopped him. You maddeningly brave, brilliant witch… You stopped him…"

Hermione's eyes burned, and she released a shaky breath, surrendering herself to everything he was, every calming, reassuring element that composed his being. "Oh goddess, Draco… when he touched you, I've — I've never wanted to hurt anyone so badly…"

Draco let out a soft breath and pressed a brief kiss to her temple, then simply clung to her, both their racing breaths slowly calming together. The unspeakable comfort of his presence never failed to amaze her, as if she really had known him her whole life, and in that moment, though she loved her Ron and Harry dearly, she wondered how different, how much less desolate the Second Wizarding War would have been if Draco — this Draco — had also been at their side.

She didn't know how much time passed, though she suspected in reality it was only a minute or two, before the adrenaline coursing through her had ceased entirely, though the raw charge that his very nearness sparked inside her never faded.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione loosened her tight hold around him and reached up to place a hand on his chest, straightening. "Thank you," she said quietly.

She felt him shift slightly as well and hesitate. Then his lips lightly brushed her forehead in the gentlest kiss. "You never have to thank me," he whispered. He pulled back slightly, looking down into her eyes with the same soft intensity that both startled and soothed her, and reached up with a faintly trembling hand to hold her cheek. "But I'm quite certain there'll be no day that passes from here 'til the end that I won't stop thanking you."

So much emotion radiated off him that even Hermione could palpably feel it, and it caused her own eyes to fill with the same overwhelming surge flowing from him. Great Godric, it was instances like these — these tender moments when Draco's cloak of humor was down and he let himself be raw and unguarded before her and he looked at her like this — like she was the only woman, the only person in the entire world who mattered or existed — that left Hermione staggered and confused. Her underdeveloped instincts sensed those gray eyes held an insoluble truth that she desperately wanted to understand… but couldn't.

She stared at him, her heart racing. Before she could speak, or even find the words to ask, for that matter, he swallowed visibly, briefly closing his eyes, and then straightened, looking over her shoulder. His voice raised. "Pansy? Are you alright?"

Hermione followed his gaze to where the dark-haired woman was standing beside the closet, holding a bundling of clothing and her book in her arms and looking at them with a soft expression. She nodded. "I'm just grateful you are. That vile ponce was far more awful to you than he was to me." A small but unmistakable vein of anger bit into her voice. "That he — That he even spoke to you like—"

Hermione felt Draco tense beside her, and Pansy must have noticed it too, thank Merlin, because she broke off from her original rant before Hermione could try to figure out how to interrupt her, though she agreed completely with her assessment.

"I'm glad you made him sweat like the pig he is, Hermione," she spat.

Hermione's jaw clenched as she remembered the fury in Percy's eyes when she'd sent him off with a wink and wave. "Well, I'm certain he isn't going to let it slide, but that's a problem for another day." Quickly, she looked back at the blond wizard beside her. "Draco, can you think of any reason at all why that ponce would believe you know something that could incriminate his family?" she asked, appreciating Pansy's impromptu nickname for Percy in more ways than one.

Draco blinked rapidly, then looked astonished. "Is — Is that why you think he…?"

She nodded. "His reaction when I accused him of it practically screamed the affirmative."

He took a small breath, bringing his clenched hands to his face, before his brow furrowed deeply. After a moment, he shook his head, his gaze slightly bewildered. "I… I can't recall any…" He released a shuddery breath. "As you might imagine, every last one of them was terribly loyal to—"

He inhaled sharply then, and his eyebrows lifted slightly.

"What?" Hermione asked quickly.

She could see in his eyes he was dipping into dark memories. "This may not be significant at all, but… one of the oldest brothers. Charles," he said stiffly. "Whenever he visited the manor, he'd take me to his room for long stretches claiming he wanted to use me, but then he'd… heal me, let me rest."

Hermione released a breath of relief; she didn't know what she'd been expecting him to say, but it wasn't that. She also couldn't believe there was a decent Weasley among them, and the possibility was deeply perplexing. "Charlie— Charles?" she corrected. "Really?"

Draco nodded. "But he never said much to me — certainly nothing outright apostatical, unless showing House-Wizards mercy is a crime." He let out a short breath, shaking his head. "Merlin knows that wouldn't be surprising."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Why do you think he helped you? What do we know about him?"

"He's a Magequinus expert in Germany," Pansy said, sitting down on the bed near them. "Unicorns, thestrals, hippogriffs, centaurs… he works with them all. I overheard Ronáld talking to My about it this summer, right before you arrived, Hermione. It seemed like Charles rarely came home for years on end, but since the second suppression, he started visiting rather regularly. Ronáld thought he was trying to better his odds of a larger inheritance — "steal" was the word he used." Her gaze shifted to Draco. "Do you think he really could have been doing it to help you?"

She sounded amazed by the idea.

Draco seemed shaken. "I… I don't know," he said. "He didn't seem any less prejudiced, necessarily. He would… talk to himself while he was healing me, about how no animal should be treated the way I was. As if I was just another one of his winged horses." He hesitated, his jaw clenched. "Still, at the time, I was… never so grateful to be comparable to a blessed hippogriff."

Hermione's hand was reaching for Draco's before her mind even realized what she was doing. She was thankful when his icy fingers gripped hers, and she made herself focus on the mystery of Percy's potential betrayal rather than on the fact that Draco had been so badly injured — repeatedly — even a bigot had been outraged and moved to act.

"None of that may matter in the Ponce's mind," she said. "If he connected the dots between you and Charles' visits home, coupled with the fact that he spends so much time working abroad… well, that could certainly be construed as spy-worthy activity, couldn't it? Perhaps he thinks that if he exposes one of own family members, it'll be a more powerful testament to his loyalty to Sovereignty. Wouldn't be the first time, self-serving bastard," she added in a mutter.

Draco's heavy-shouldered demeanor shifted entirely. "Listen, as much as I would dearly love to see the evil that is that family tear themselves apart from the inside out — Hermione, what happened with Blaise?" he asked in a rush, his voice laden with thinly concealed desperation.

"Oh!" she exclaimed guiltily. "Merlin, I'm sorry— Percy completely threw me off—"

"He did us all," Pansy said darkly. "But Blaise is alright, isn't he?" She moved closer, her voice anxious. "If Harry felt comfortable leaving him, it must have gone well?"

"As well as to be expected under the circumstances," Hermione said carefully, uncertain of whether Pansy had any idea exactly how brutal her boyfriend could be. "He is… here." She stopped herself from saying 'alright,' since she honestly doubted he was, and noticed how Draco's eyes snapped back to her face worriedly at her brief hesitation. "Harry's leading the Ponce on a wild goose chase, so we've got about 45 minutes now to get the three of you down to the Chamber before that foul cockroach is off roaming the castle on his own again." She summoned his cane from beneath her bed, and they stood together. "I just need a second to change first."

She ducked into the closet and slipped from her nonexistent uniform into the slimming black slacks and dark hooded sweater that the far more fashion-inclined Slytherin had grabbed for her, pulling her hair up into a bun and wiping the ridiculous excess makeup from her face with a cleansing charm as quickly as she could.

Draco and Pansy were waiting by the door, speaking in low voices, when she reemerged. "Right. Sorry about that." She snatched up Blaise's lead and note from inside the Witches Vogue magazine, immensely grateful to be wearing sneakers (the only pair My owned — designer, of course) rather than the five-inch heals My had been pictured wearing inside it. "Let's get going."

"Do you think P-Per — the Ponce'll have any idea Harry's leading him on?" Pansy asked worriedly.

Hermione let out a snort and shook her head. "Not a chance. He's practically drooling on the ground Harry walks on, thank Merlin for all of us." For some reason — perhaps because Harry had saved her from possible Obliviation that night, or that she'd seen just how heartless his Sovereignty persona was expected to be — she felt the need to say something on his behalf. "He's been making quite the effort in the friend-making department tonight with more than just Percy, you know," she added, giving Pansy a pointed glance.

As Draco cautiously opened her bedroom door, the gentle Slytherin turned back around to stare at her, her gaze disbelieving. "He has?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

Hermione smiled slightly and nodded. "He even apologized to me earlier."

Pansy's eyes abruptly shone, but Hermione was distracted from any further conversation by the hand that rested on the small of her back as Draco ushered her by him and down the stairs. "I can help you with Blaise," he told her quietly, his shoulders tense. "Where is he — Evans' room?"

"I'm fairly certain," she said with a grateful nod. "I'm glad you'll be there. I've no doubt he'll be much more willing to listen to you than to me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, as long as you'd kept wearing that, erm — well, whatever it was you had on that they call clothing these days—"

Hermione spun and glared at him, and he held up his hands. "I am so sorry, I could not resist that." Though from the teasing twinkle in his eyes, clearly he wasn't. "I do know you abhor the way she dresses as much as I do."

"You've no bloody idea," she muttered. She nodded to Pansy as the dark-haired woman darted off toward the safe room, while they continued on toward the stairway to Harry's quarters. Her gaze locked on him curiously. "You abhor the way I dress as My?"

"Well… It isn't…" Draco's bloodless face regained some color, for which she was rather glad, though he didn't look at her as he fumbled for an explanation. "You obviously look… really good, it's just…" His eyes met hers. "Hermione, I wouldn't complain if you wore a paper bag, as long as I knew you enjoyed it."

Hermione's fondness for him swelled, and she gave him same teasing smile he had her. "Really? A paper bag?"

He flushed slightly, looking sheepish. "You know what I mean."

It didn't escape her that a comment like this yesterday or even an hour earlier wouldn't have left him anywhere near as flustered as it had now. Lightly, she placed her hand on Draco's chest to slow his walk. His eyes shifted to hers questioningly, and she lifted her hand, her fingers stopping millimeters from his jaw.

Nasty bruises and swelling were already forming around his throat and cheek.

An angry growl escaped her lips, and she felt her hatred of Percy Weasley multiply eight hundred times more than she had ever imagined she could feel even when he'd infuriatingly sided with the Ministry during the earliest days of Voldemort's return.

"I can help you with these as soon as we get back to the Chamber," she offered, even though she knew any number of people there, from his father to himself, could easily apply the bruise cream as well. She hesitated. "Draco, I normally never advocate hiding away things that have been wrongfully done to us because I don't believe they're anything to be ashamed of. But given the 'hours and hours' you or unnamed others put into building 'the perfect look,' do you want me to cover them up for you? Just for your reunion with Blaise?"

Draco stared at her for a moment before he blinked rapidly and nodded. "Yes, I'd… appreciate that."

His hair still looked damp with perspiration, and one brief touch to his sleeve confirmed his clothing was as well, so Hermione silently cast warming and drying charms on him as well as the glamour charm. She smiled tightly. "There. Now that horrible beast won't have taken that from you either."

Any normal person would have probably dismissed the thoughtful gesture with a simple nod, but after the very recent, brutal reminder that, in the eyes of society, his worth was less than a knut, Draco's throat choked with emotion. The fact that Hermione of all people had noticed — that she'd remembered how uncomfortable he was with people seeing the physical reminders of what had been done to him and the horrified, pitying stares that would follow — that she cared —

"Thanks," he said hoarsely. He blinked rapidly, then cleared his throat, smiling at her. "Now let's see him try to say he's the best-looking bloke between us."

Her eyebrows flew up in disbelief. "Is he really that arrogant?"

Draco's lip quirked to the right slightly; he tried to ignore the immediate throb of his stinging cheek. "I don't think he ever really meant it. Usually."

"Draco, the more you talk about him, the more he sounds like he's the worst friend ever."

A laugh actually bubbled from his chest then, something he hadn't dreamt he'd be able to manage so soon after his run-in with a face directly from his nightmares. But for as nonconformist and cocky as his old friend could be, Draco didn't want Hermione to think badly of him before she'd even met him. "Blaise has his quirks, but so do we all," he said, catching his breath. "When it comes down to it, he will defend you to the very end."

"That quality can make even the most eccentric of habits rather redeeming, can't it?" Hermione commented.

"Beyond belief," Draco said, wondering if she was thinking of her friend in Ravenclaw.

They reached the stairs, and he gripped his cane tightly.

Two years. It had been two years since he and Blaise had clasped hands for the last time, and he and Anna Maria had been whisked off seconds before Draco's entire world had shattered and gone up in flames. After the hellish nightmare they'd likely both experienced, two years apart might as well have been a lifetime.

Draco had initially fought desperately to pretend his captivity hadn't changed him, but he'd finally had to simply accept that it had. He was reminded of it every time even the slightest of touches sent adrenaline and panic surging through him, when casually spoken words triggered overpowering, mind-wrenching memories he only wanted to forever purge from his recollection, when he couldn't close his eyes peacefully for even a moment without the help of drugs or the sound of her voice (which, it could be argued, certainly sometimes seemed drug-like)… when he lifted a wand and felt only emptiness inside him.

How deeply had such things affected the friend he had once known so well?

As if she had some idea of his troubled thoughts, Hermione's hand slipped into his.

Draco briefly closed his eyes, tightening his fingers around hers, and tried not to outwardly show the overwhelming wave of relief it gave him to feel her there beside him. It had been hearing her voice, and the thought of her gentle hands on his cheeks and her lips brushing his, that he had clung to in the minutes or hours while Weasley (he didn't want to think of his name; it didn't matter which one it'd been) had deliberately tried to flay the skin from his soul, physically wracking his body and clawing at the faculties of the mind he was so carefully trying to piece back together.

If anything had happened to Hermione tonight… If anything awful ever befell her, because she was here—

"Draco," she said quietly then, pausing a few steps from the top of the landing outside Evans's dorm.

Draco blinked, focusing down on her. She was worrying her lip, and his stomach turned in nervous foreboding. He knew that when she was this uncomfortable telling him something, it usually had to do with another atrocity committed against his people.

"Hermione, what is it?" he asked quietly.

Hermione took a small breath and met his gaze evenly. "Blaise is going to hate Harry. He used him to get to Percy in a… very Harry Evans-like way." She hesitated. "There's a good chance he'll look rather rough, but Harry's numbed the pain until we can get him to the Chamber."

Draco considered what that meant, and his jaw clenched; he felt ill, but he only nodded. "What else do I need to know?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He… couldn't say much. But he's angry, Draco. Phoenix and Hogwarts conservatives are made to work in crews, and Blaise was one of a few who caused some problems soon after they all arrived."

Draco couldn't help but smile faintly, even though the subject was the very antithesis of amusing. "That sounds exactly like Blaise, all right."

But Hermione's lips tugged downward. "Well, when he did, they didn't hurt him… or, at least, not only him. They'd…" She pressed her lips together tightly and briefly closed her eyes, and Draco could tell she was trying to decide whether or not to say something distressing in front of him.

"Torture," he supplied bluntly, trying to keep his voice even as he said it for the sheer knowledge that if he didn't, she'd never speak of the word around him again, and he knew she might need to. Merlin, he knew he might need to.

She looked up at him, determination sparking in her eyes. "Yes. Other people on his crew. People he knew. To punish him. Horrific, all of it," she spat angrily.

Draco suddenly realized he was squeezing her hand rather tightly and hastily loosened his grip, but if Hermione noticed, she didn't say anything.

She let out a breath. "Draco, I'm… I'm a bit afraid that when Blaise sees you, he may think that's the reason why we're there. Why I'm there… with you." She searched his eyes. "Harry said his cage is unlocked. Do you think it'd be more helpful if I… didn't come in with you, at first?"

His heart instantly began beating faster at that idea. Even a few hours ago, he might very well have been able to do it, but staring into Weasley's pitiless blue eyes had dredged up a minefield of dark memories he had thought he'd somewhat managed to bury.

He released Hermione's hand before she could feel a cold sweat again break out across his skin, instead shoving it uncertainly through his hair. Walking into that darkness… into an empty bedroom and some kind of cage… without Hermione…

She placed her hand on his arm. "I could always come with you under the Invisibility Cloak as well," she suggested.

Draco shook his head, swallowing hard. "No. He's going to find out about you soon enough, Hermione. I'd much rather start with the full truth immediately; that's… that's the only way he'll trust us in the long run." A different kind of pain twisted in his stomach, enough to make him feel physically ill, but he forced himself to take another breath and put it from his mind for just another week and a half longer. "Anyway, we've got a system. I need to have you with me for it to work."

"A system?" Hermione echoed. Her eyebrow arched curiously; Draco was certain she had no idea how terribly sexy it looked, or she probably wouldn't have done it as frequently as she did. "Like… what? A super secret handshake so he knows we're genuine?"

He chuckled at the idea. "Something like that. Only problem there's that the Sovereignty probably would've cut off our hands if they'd found out to ensure we couldn't communicate." At her stricken expression, his stomach plummeted. "Oh god. I'm so sorry; that was incredibly morbid—"

She shook her head. "It was a bit, but…" She sighed. "Unfortunately that's the world you've lived in, Draco."

"Well." Draco tried to smile weakly, casting a glance at her out of the side of his eyes as they finished the climb up to Harry's quarters. "I assure you our system isn't the least bit sinister. Though it'd be best if you simply played along; try to make it a bit more convincing."

Her other eyebrow flew up. "Draco, what exactly is this 'system'?" she asked warily.

"Rather simple, really," he said innocently. "When I steal your wand and grab you from behind to show Blaise you aren't really a threat, just swoon into my arms and immediately agree to be my prisoner."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth open slightly.

After a moment, Draco's lips twitched mischievously.

She glared, her hands on her hips. "Oh, you're uproarious."

Her expression softened as they looked toward the closed door in front of them. Draco took a steadying breath, his stomach a bundle of nerves, and hesitantly brushed his fingers against her hand in question. He was grateful when she responded, again slipping her hand around his.

He drew strength from her touch as she pushed open the door, and he forced himself to step into the pitch-black room beside her, his grip on her hand unconsciously tightening.

Her presence, and the knowledge his friend needed help, were the only two things that could drive him back so willingly into such unremitting darkness.

"Lumos," Hermione whispered.

To his relief, every lamp and torch throughout the entire suite instantly flared brightly to life, purging the darkness like a hundred shining suns. The magic was startlingly swift and beautiful, and it instantly drew him to stare down at Hermione's illuminated features in wonder. She had chosen to leave her hair darkened the same shade of brown as her idol Saoirse of Hogwarts, and her face, scrubbed mostly clean of My's immense make-up load, still seemed to glow as intelligent eyes the colour of a bold-flavoured honey sharply scanned the bedroom.

Merlin… She was beautiful.

And she was here.

She looked up at him suddenly, her gaze concerned. "Draco—"

He swiftly looked away, but she paused for a split second longer than necessary, and he knew he'd been caught. Silently cursing burning cheeks that the incredibly bright light certainly couldn't hide, Draco resolutely focused on looking for his best friend… who he had just delayed helping because he was gawping like a right tosser.

"Draco," Hermione repeated then in a whisper, her voice wavering slightly. "I think he's… over there."

She gestured to the far left of the room, and, predictably the least well-lit. Draco squinted, scanning for the shimmer of a Disillusionment spell like the one she'd used on his—

In an instant, he went stock still.

Embedded in the wall to the left of Evans's closet, blocked slightly by the open door, were bars identical in shape and very number to the entrance of Draco's Gryffindor hellhole.

Like a pyroclastic flow, a surge of memories far worse than what Weasley's voice had conjured ripped through his brain, overwhelming his sight and touch and hearing, of being yanked out past the same bars and thrown back in, over and over and over again; of the curses, the beatings, the humiliation, the raw fear and laughter that was not his, and agony, constant, unrelenting, burning agony—

The corners of his vision began to blacken; his legs weakened, and the cane slipped from his grasp.

"Draco!" Hermione's voice cut through the haze strangling his mind, and suddenly she was no longer holding his hand but gripping both his arms beneath his shoulders, her much smaller frame somehow keeping him upright. "Draco, this isn't that place! You aren't there anymore! Look at me! Look at me!"

In a panic, his gaze automatically followed and found the source of her voice, staring down into beautiful brown eyes he'd never dreamed would be looking at him, not like this, and he held to them like a lifeline.

"You're safe here, you're safe! Breathe!" she urged.

Draco gasped in a painfully deep gulp of air, and then another, and another. His shaking hands reached out blindly, colliding with her waist. "C-Can - Can I—"

"Yes."

He clutched her sweater if only for the sense of grounded stability it — she — provided, squeezing his eyes shut and choking back control over his thoughts with each inhalation. A kind hand that was not his own firmly cupped the uninjured side of his face. "I'm right here, Draco," she whispered, sounding relieved. "Right here. You're doing exactly right. Just breathe… breathe…"

Painfully slowly, the panic scrabbling at the edges of his mind and the sludge suffocating his head began to clear, and his legs regained a bit of their strength.

He didn't know how long they stood there until he felt composed again. Weasley's rude awakening that night had already picked at the scab that had taken a full seven weeks of freedom to even begin to form around his deepest wounds, but this had ripped it open entirely, and he couldn't bring himself to look at her as his leaden tongue finally managed to croak some form of speech.

"Sweet Salazar, Hermione — I'm so sorry—"

"No. Never apologize. Not for that. Not ever." Her fierce conviction was so stunning that Draco's exhausted gaze instinctively moved to her face in spite of himself, and she tilted her head slightly to her left, gesturing over her shoulder, her eyes blessedly understanding. "I don't want to rush you, Draco, but we've only got about 30 minutes. Do you think you're… ready to face your friend?"

Just as as it had departed, Draco was again swiftly overcome with dread. There'd have been no reason for Evans to have put the same isolation charms on Blaise's enclosure as there had been on Draco's, would there have? Which — oh Merlin — Which meant Blaise must have been witness to his entire meltdown—

"No no," Hermione said quickly as his eyes widened in horror. "I raised a few protective charms between us and him the second I saw it start. He didn't see it, Draco… I won't lift them until you feel ready."

Such a powerful gratefulness rushed through every nerve and pore in Draco's body that he desperately wanted to either kiss her vehemently or fall to his knees. For a moment, their eyes held, an unspoken question in Hermione's that he recognized instantly.

He took a breath, clenched his jaw, and nodded once.

Hermione gave him a small, encouraging smile, squeezed his hand, and stepped aside, waving her wand to terminate the charms. Draco suddenly felt very, very tired, but he straightened, returning his gaze to the bars now directly across the room from him.

Hunched in the shadows at the very back of the recess was a dark figure, just out of touch of the bright light spilling into the front of the cage. Though Draco couldn't make out any distinguishing features, from the person's lanky size and shape, he recognized him instantly for Blaise.

Leaving his cane on the ground, Draco took a careful, uneven step forward, and then another, until he was standing right by the wall niche.

The top of it hardly reached his knees.

For a moment, the shock of realizing how small his own simultaneous refuge, hell and old prison had been rattled Draco's system, and he was again enclosed within solid rock, with nowhere to move, to turn around… to breathe…

No.

He choked in several rapid breaths, steadying himself.

His fears weren't important now. Blaise was.

From somewhere far to his side, he heard Hermione cast a diagnostic charm on the cage door. "Draco, it is unlocked."

Draco nodded and straightened his shoulders, glancing at her briefly to see she had moved several feet away. He wondered if she guessed how overwhelming it would be for anyone stuffed inside such an enclosure to see their tiny window to even a fantasized escape blocked by not one but two bodies, and he sent her a silent thank you, then crouched down, wincing at the painful pull in his right thigh.

With slightly shaking fingers, he grasped one of the bars. The hopeful part of him that had always desperately wrenched at least once at the unyielding enclosures of his every cell and prison didn't actually expect it to open, but he pulled on it nonetheless.

To his utter astonishment, the door easily swung outward and toward him with a small, satisfying creak.

Blaise's features were a bit clearer now, though still swathed in darkness, but it was obvious his arms were bound behind him. "Hermione, his hands," he said. "Could you—?"

"On it," she said, squinting as she crouched down in the same spot she'd been standing. With a muttered spell, his friend's arms slid limply from behind him to the ground, his wrists bleeding profusely.

Evans might have numbed Blaise's pain, but Draco didn't care. Swallowing back a sudden ache of memory in his own wrists, he asked tightly, "Could you use an Episkey on his arms as well?"

"Absolutely. Blaise, could you move your hands into the light, please?" Hermione requested politely.

After several very long beats, Blaise stiffly stretched out his arms several inches until the bright light of the room spilled upon them.

His clenched, blood-covered hands were shaking violently.

Draco heard Hermione mutter angrily upon seeing them, and within only a few seconds, they glowed a familiar orange. She followed it with a Tergeo charm that vanished the blood entirely, and in its wake, the entire skin of Blaise's wrists was nearly white with pale, deep scars Draco doubted were only from today.

A deep, sickened ache settled into his soul.

"Hiya, brother," he finally said weakly, his voice hoarse. "It's been awhile, yeah?"

Draco could hear Blaise's breaths coming in swift, shallow pants, but even though nothing but four feet of chilly air stood between the two of them now, his old friend didn't once try to speak or move.

If their positions had been reversed, Draco knew he wouldn't have, either.

No… he understood his caution and suspicion all too well.

"Could you give us just a bit of light, Hermione?" he asked.

He heard her shift slightly. "Right. Hold out your hand."

He did, and soothing bluebell flames unlike the red that danced across his nightmares instantly flared to life above his fingers. The azure light spilled across the prison's interior, and Draco immediately clamped down on his cheek to hold back a sharp inhalation.

The right side of his old friend's face was covered in blood, his nose clearly broken. His cheekbone was fully bashed in.

Draco gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to visibly react as strongly as his subconscious currently was. "Chuffing hell, mate, shouldn't have provoked the Hargarian Horntail," he said tightly, his other hand unconsciously gripped into a tight fist even as he tried to sound lighthearted. "A few more rounds of that and your pretty boy status would've gone right down the toilet."

Blaise simply stared at him, his expression carefully molded into a blank mask. His face was as hollow as it had ever been, but his vanity's pride and joy - the wild head of natural curls he'd cultivated virtually forever - was completely shaved clean; it made him look almost entirely different from the boy Draco had grown up with.

"Harry said it'd be rough, Draco," Hermione commented, though she sounded just as unhappy about Blaise's injuries as he did. "I can fix his nose and get rid of the blood, though. Best if Riddle handled the rest."

Blaise's dark eyes spoke for him then, filled with parts bewilderment and utter dread as his gaze darted between Draco and the direction in which Hermione crouched.

Draco knew the moment had come.

He locked eyes with his old friend. "This is a trap," he said evenly. "The mad wench standing with me cannot be trusted."

Hermione let out a surprised squeak behind him. "Draco—!"

He held up a hand to halt her protest. "They're compelling me to speak to you as if everything's the dog's bollocks, which it isn't," he continued, voicing everything that no Sovereignty agent would ever instruct them to under the Imperius Curse, Orders or other methods. "You cannot believe anything I or she or Harry bloody Evans says. This is all a lie, and you and I are completely and utterly buggered."

Blaise stared at him hard for several long seconds. "When we were nine, what did I steal from you that made you swear you'd never forgive me?"

Merlin, it'd happened almost ten years ago, yet Draco still felt himself tense at the memory… and the fact that it'd been brought up here. "My diary. And we were ten, you sneaky bugger. Either that, or that special blend of herbs you and Vince used to secretly smoke after detentions with Sprout is already catching up with you."

Blaise blinked rapidly, but his face composed itself again swiftly. "How did I come up with your classic nickname?"

Draco felt his face flush slightly. "That's a rubbish question. Our mums told that story to everyone and their kneazles."

"Answer it," Blaise said flatly. "Be thorough; as you can well imagine from your previous statement, I would know every detail."

Briefly, Draco closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Almost a decade and a half earlier, after they'd been forced out of their family home, he and his mother had taken refuge with one of her closest friends from Hogwarts, Anna Maria Zabini, who had managed to avoid the worst of the first suppression in a more isolated corner of the conservative quarter in London. Four-year-old Blaise hadn't been very happy to share his already small room with a strange boy. Between moody silences interspaced with irate rants and rude comments to four-year-old Draco's attempts at friendship, he made it abundantly clear that Draco's presence was not appreciated.

After a few tense days, while their mothers were making breakfast, the curly-haired boy had reached into the ice box and snatched up an egg, gleefully smashing it down on top of Draco's head. After Anna Maria immediately scolded her son for wasting good food and mistreating guests — how ever did Blaise expect to make friends with that attitude! — preparing to send him off without breakfast, Draco had grabbed another egg and thrown it on the floor, exclaiming, "But we be friends, Anna'Mia! See? I waste good food, too!"

Both boys, instead of one, had gone without breakfast that day (though Draco could still remember his mother's small smile as she cleaned the mess from his hair and told him to follow Blaise to their room). But after Blaise had shook his head with a disbelieving laugh and called Draco an egghead for sacrificing his own meal to join him, the two did become fast friends, and the unfortunate nickname stuck for over a decade.

Though Draco didn't share it, the larger arc of the story ended with Pansy: A year and a half later, he and Narcissa had left for East Belham to share a flat with Bella after Peia was born. When Draco was nine, though, they moved back to the city for his mother to search for better work prospects, and had found a flat only two buildings from Blaise and Anna Maria, who by then had been helping Pansy's father with childcare after her mother's imprisonment.

The three had remained close friends since.

"And as much as I'm enjoying the trip down awkward boyhood lane, we're a bit short on time," he said, glancing up at the clock on Evans's desk. "Have I convinced you I'm me and we're both on the up and up, or do I have to get into that rather disgusting bathing habit you picked up fourth year before the Second Task?"

In a rush, relief — and disbelief — overcame Blaise's hard features, and he sucked in a gasp. "Draco… bloody hell." His rigid shoulders collapsed entirely, his elbows thudding hard to the floor of the cage, but he pushed himself back up, gaping at him. "Merlin's bollocks, mate, what the actual fuck?" he breathed in a hushed whisper. His hands had again begun to shake, this time likely from excitement. "How are you — What are you —" He jabbed his chin toward Hermione, "Her?"

Draco shook his head, settling for the quickest response. "She's a friend now — that's a very long story — Here; come on, let's get you the bloody hell out of here." He offered him his hand. "I'll explain on the way."

Blaise shook his head. "That stroppy toff-bastard told me to stay put," he ground out.

"I negate that Order; you can leave," Hermione said before Draco could even look over at her in request.

Blaise's gaze again shot between the two of them, wariness steeling off his expression.

Draco nodded reassuringly. "She's got your lead, brother. You can."

As if he'd suddenly realized something, Blaise's dark eyes widened, and he edged closer to the cage entrance, though still not out it. "Holy shite. Have you used the Imperius Curse on them all?" he whispered excitedly, cautiously glancing back at Hermione. "Or — what — a love potion? You backstabbing bastard!" he exclaimed farcically at Draco's horrified expression. "You know I fancied her more than y—"

"No!" Draco exclaimed quickly, cutting him off. "No, I've got as little magic as you do, for now! There isn't any guile involved. She and Evans are helping us. They're on our side."

"Oh, right, and I expect you'll tell me next that Evans rescues unicorns in his spare time as well. You know me better than to expect me to believe that bollocks! Why would Lord Bloody Evans and the Muggleborn Goddess herself give a single fuck about us? And how the fuck does My Granger know how to heal?"

"Because it isn't really My Granger anymore!" Draco responded insistently with a pointed raise of his eyebrows, leaving Blaise to interpret that however he wanted.

"Draco, I need to leave," Hermione said quietly but urgently behind him.

He nodded, closing his hand on the bluebell flames to snuff them out, and again held out his hand. "Now, Merlin's ghost, there's a safe room we have to go before that fancy-arsed ponce who put you here gets where he's going, and I don't mean Evans, so stop being a stubborn skrewt for one blessed minute of your life and come on!"

After a very long moment of hesitation, Blaise reached out and clasped his forearm, his long fingers digging into Draco's skin so tightly they were sure to leave marks. He scrambled from the cage, gingerly unfurling himself to his full height. As soon as he'd found his legs, the two friends pulled each other into a tight hug. When they'd parted ways two years ago, they'd been the same height, but now Blaise was at least another inch or two taller than Draco, and was far more muscular than Draco could have ever imagined his gangly frame was even capable of carrying.

"Good god," Draco said in astonishment when they stepped back. "What've they had you doing, building another wing of Hogwarts entirely by hand?"

"Might as well have," Blaise bit out. "Cleaning crew. You wouldn't believe the utter shit those manky little monsters made us carry around when all they had to do was snap their fingers and magic it done themselves." He briefly looked over Draco as they walked toward the door; he was well aware he resembled an emaciated specter in comparison to Blaise's now-broad frame. "Where'd they have you, working the owlry? Sorting out herbs and that sort of rubbish for the instructors?"

Draco's throat constricted. "Owlry," he echoed, a hollow laugh catching at the back of his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Don't I wish."

Hermione held out his cane and fell into step alongside them, thankfully interrupting a need for any further explanation. Her Invisibility Cloak was hanging off her arm now; she must have pulled it out while he'd been busy with Blaise. "I realize My wasn't particularly skilled with magic, but I can fix your nose and clean off some of the blood on your face, if you'll let me."

"That would be greatly appreciated, gorgeous." Blaise gave her a slow once over that like an old ghost raised a familiar and greatly undesired feeling in Draco's chest. "You're right, My would never let herself out looking like that. Who're you really, then? Mediwitch on Polyjuice?" His eyebrows flew up, and he waggled them at her slightly with a suggestive grin; Draco's hands unconsciously clenched. "Wouldn't by chance happen to be a young one, would you?"

Perhaps two years of captivity hadn't changed Blaise quite as much as Draco was worried it might have, he thought as Hermione looked from Blaise to him, her eyebrows raised slightly.

"I'll leave you to explain it, Draco darling," she wryly said in a near spot on impression of My's voice.

Then she turned and pointed her wand directly at Blaise's face.

"Whoa, Hermione! Time!" Draco exclaimed, swiftly edging himself between them as Blaise automatically shrank against the staircase's bannister.

"Well, how else am I supposed to heal him?" she asked matter-of-factly, though given Blaise's comments he had a sneaking suspicion she'd known full well what she'd been doing.

"It's the sodding delivery of it," Blaise muttered, quickly straightening his shoulders and moving back out from behind Draco. He seemed a bit embarrassed and no less irate. "Give me some warning next time, why don't you?"

"You did tell me it would be greatly appreciated," Hermione replied with enough dryness for Draco to know she'd been irked; he ducked his head and smiled to himself in spite of the situation. Once she finished the necessary spellwork, Blaise looked considerably more human and less vampire-like, though the darkened skin and swelling around his broken cheekbone and eye still remained. "There. That'll do you for now; all you need to clear it up entirely is some high-absorption contusion cream and a Mediwitch-level Brackium Charm for your zygomatic bone."

"My what?" Blaise looked toward Draco. "Is she even speaking English right now?"

Hermione gestured exasperatedly at his cheek. "The zygomatic bone. That handy little section of your skeletal system holding up this entire flap of your face!" With a crisp turn, she continued off down the stairs.

Blaise shoved himself up alongside Draco. "Whaaaat in the bloody hell happened to My Granger?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his voice slightly strangled.

Draco couldn't keep the smile he'd been hiding from slipping across his lips. At the same time that he said, "She's a million times better, mate," Blaise said mournfully, "She's ruined!"

Draco spun to look at him, his lips parted slightly. "What?!"

Blaise petulantly waved his hand toward Hermione, looking repulsed. "Look at her! Where's that lovely sashay! Those delightfully tight little skirts and those come hither eyes? That isn't all flirty fun and play time in there anymore, is it? What know-it-all spell-spewing bint d'you replace her with, Padma Patil?"

For a moment, Draco genuinely could't find the words to reply. Finally, he exasperatedly shook his head in absolute disbelief. "Merlin's beard. And you call me a bloody egghead."

Strangely, Hermione seemed in better spirits when they caught up with her at the base of the stairs. "Here, I'll lift the protection charms for him to get in," she said brightly; Blaise hadn't been one of the original donors to her blood-based enchantment. "I don't expect the Ponce would return so soon, but if he does, stay in there, no matter what happens. You'll be safe."

After she muttered the counter-charms to a few complex spells, Blaise sucked in a small breath of surprise; the small addition Hermione had built on to the back of the common room must have become visible to him.

Hermione nodded toward it. "Go on then. Blaise is part of it now as well."

Draco caught her gaze as she turned to leave. "Be safe out there." A chuisle, his mind whispered, and he flushed slightly knowing that he'd actually let it slip out earlier.

Hermione took a step toward him, her eyes locked on his. For a moment, a weight lifted from his chest he hadn't realized was there, but it settled back upon him again as her gaze briefly shifted to Blaise, and her feet halted.

"I'll see you soon," she said instead and gave him a firm nod, flinging the Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders. Lightly running footsteps padded across the floor, and the portrait hole slid open and shut again.

In the sharp silence that followed, Draco let out a shuddering breath, sending out a small prayer to the goddesses he knew Hermione invoked but claimed she didn't believe in for her safe passage. Then he turned back to his friend, nodding toward the safe room. "Come on, then. There's one more person here I reckon you'd like to see."

Blaise stopped him before he'd take so much as a step. "What exactly was that?"

Draco's brow knit, and he glanced back toward the common room's entrance. "What? You mean the—"

"No, I don't mean the door, 'Draco darling!' Those looks between the two of you! The way she kept smiling at you like you were the cutest damned bloke she ever did see while you were telling that ridiculous story about our four-year-old food fight!"

A smile pulled at his eyes. "She did?"

Blaise's eyebrows shot up. "Merlin, mate, have you moved in on My Granger's Polyjuice impostor while I was gone?"

"Blaise—"

"Blimey, you have!" he exclaimed, jabbing his finger at Draco's chest. "Oh, that's rich! Always pretending I was the one with the problem, but don't think I didn't notice those looks you'd give her when you thought no one else was looking! You know I fancied her first, Draco! There's some kind of bruv-code against that!"

Draco stared at him in disbelief. "We haven't seen each other for two years of absolute hell, and this is the first thing you choose to talk about now? Don't you think it's a tad bit… petty?"

"You're right. It is petty." Blaise's expression became momentarily pensive, and then he rounded back on him and glared accusingly. "How could you?"

Draco buried his forehand in his hand, shoving his long fringe back from his face. "For the love of all things good, Blaise, you've fancied loads of girls; by my reckoning half of Hogwarts would be off limits with that criteria. She isn't even My Granger anymore; you said so yourself two minutes ago!"

"Sod all that! It's the principle of it!"

"Blaise Zabini, you pull your head out of your arse and get the bloody hell in here!"

Both men jumped slightly and looked over at the safe room in surprise. Pansy was standing at the entrance with her hands on her hips. "No one's moved in on anyone. We've all been in the same nightmare you have for the past two years! Now, Hermione and Harry are running around this castle risking their lives while you two prattle on unprotected, the least you can do is make certain their efforts aren't in vain!"

Blaise's hanging mouth closed. "Pansy!" he exclaimed, hurrying around the sofa and through the safe room's entry to give her such a powerful hug she was lifted off her feet. "Dear god, bird — I've been so bloody worried!" She hugged him back tightly, and started laughing as he spun her around. He placed her back on the ground as Draco joined them and held her out at arms' length, looking between them. "Sodding Salazar, how many others're out like this?"

Draco shook his head. "I wish I could say more, but only us, for now. We're in the process of working out how to get the rest." By now, the three of them were safely within the walls of the heavily-charmed room, but he still couldn't help but be a bit cautious. "Hermione's going to summon us somewhere much safer than this in a few minutes… might be easiest for you to simply see everything then for yourself."

Blaise frowned. "Who in the blazes is this Hermie Heiny person you keep referring to?"

"Hermione," Pansy corrected as Draco held back a chuckle; in all his years Blaise hadn't given up any chance he could take to refer to himself idiomically. "And it's My. Her real name is Hermione. That's what My stands for."

Blaise glanced at Draco, lifting an eyebrow. "But Draco just told me My isn't My anymore."

"Right," Draco said with a serious nod, unable to hold back a spurt of mischievousness. "She's Hermione."

"What the hell," Blaise exclaimed in exasperation, and Draco and Pansy both burst out laughing. He threw up his hands and collapsed down into the room's sole chair. "It's been too shitty of a day to add a load of sodding riddles on top of it. So you're telling me that bird actually isn't someone far more useful on Polyjuice Potion?" He ran his hands up over his face, inhaling sharply as he crossed his battered cheek. "Don't get me wrong, an unforgettable shag's fairly high in my book of priorities, but don't tell me it's just you two and whatever's come over Gryffindor's resident beauty queen up against the world."

For as quickly as he'd begun to chortle, Draco's jaw tightened, and he tried not to let himself get angry over words he knew had been carelessly, and ignorantly, spoken. "I assure you the truth's going to sound madder than that," he said. He gingerly sat on the bed, holding on to his cane for the moment they Apparated to the Chamber. "Hermione's… She's…"

For a moment, he couldn't bring himself to go on because he knew how insane it would make him appear.

"She's a different version of My," Pansy cut in matter-of-factly. She sat down beside him with her book and spare set of clothes. "From another universe."

Blaise nearly choked on his own spit, snickering loudly. Then he caught sight of their expressions and froze. "Ho-ly shite. You're serious right now."

Draco glanced at Pansy and then nodded. "Pretty much've never been more, mate."

Blaise gaped at them for several seconds. "Merlin, if it weren't for our check-in I'd say the whole lot of you've either been Imperius-ed or driven completely off your rockers, but I have no idea what the Sovereignty would be getting out of any of this except a riotous laugh, evil fucking smegs they all are."

Draco winced. "Well, you can rest easy on that one. Believe me, their twisted sense of humor isn't this innocent even when they're pissed out of their minds."

Blaise sat back, gazing at him ruminatively. After a second, Pansy leaned over to Draco's ear and whispered very faintly, "Please don't tell me it was Harry who did that to him…"

He hesitated a moment before tilting his head toward her and responding just as softly, "He did, but only to get to — to that ponce."

Pansy gripped his arm, burying her face in her other hand. "Oh no," she breathed faintly.

Draco put his arm around her reassuringly, keeping his voice low. "Hermione did say he numbed the pain for him afterward…"

Though, knowing Evans, he wondered if Blaise even knew it was Evans who'd done that particular bit of palliating magic… and if it would even matter to him if he did.

He glanced back at their latest arrival to see the last of the Trio had leaned toward him, his gaze focused intently on the left side of Draco's face. "What does 'W' stand for, brother?" he asked warily, sounding like he may have already suspected an answer but was still afraid to hear it confirmed aloud.

Draco stiffened instantly. He felt sick, and he shifted his gaze to the wall, staring at it with a clenched jaw. It took him several seconds to steady himself to say the name without a single hesitation, or emotion.

The voice that finally emerged from his lips sounded half dead.

"Weasley," he said tightly.

His friend leapt to his feet, swinging out his arm to send the lamp on Draco's small dresser hurtling to the floor with a crash. "Those bastards!"

"Blaise!" Pansy exclaimed.

"I overheard your name mentioned once or twice while I was scrubbing toilets so I wondered if you were somewhere here," he hissed, his voice shaking with anger. "If I had any — any idea it was with that sick son of a skrewt—"

Draco stood, gripping his cane tightly. "What? What would you have done? There was nothing any of us could do, Blaise! It's the way it was!"

"Well, it bloody well shouldn't be!"

His gaze shot to Draco's neck, which only held a host of more visible scars, his dark eyes burning with a fury Draco had seen plenty as their oppression had worsened. Before Draco could react, Blaise seized his arms; panic jolted through Draco's body like a bolt of electricity and he instinctively cringed violently as Blaise shoved back his sleeves more, turning his arms over in his hands. "Draco! Fucking hell!"

Draco finally got over the sheer shock of what was happening to yank away, practically stumbling backward in his haste to retreat, but it was too late — Blaise's face gleamed with enraged horror. "What else did they do to you, Draco? What else?"

"What do you think they did?" he yelled, torn between anger for the unexpected violation and simple mortification that the carving block that was his body had again been laid bare before one of his oldest friends. "What have they done to all of us? Laid us out over and over until we gave up on ever trying to stand again!" He sucked in a breath, trying to reign in the well of emotions threatening to flood his eyes. "But we're still standing here now, aren't we! And you can bloody well bet we aren't going to let them bury us forever without a hell of a fight!"

For several seconds, they simply stared at each other breathlessly.

Pansy gripped his pant leg. "Well said, Draco." Her voice sounded choked.

After a minute, Blaise reached out his hand, his eyes actually swimming with tears. Draco hesitated, then took the offered handshake of peace. Blaise shook his head and cursed, pulling him into another tight hug from which Draco steeled himself not to flinch away. "I'm so sorry, brother," he said thickly, but he also sounded proud. "I'm glad you never let those fucking monsters have all of you, either."

Only Draco knew how many times he had hung, unconscious and broken, from only a belt loop over the edge of the darkest, deepest abyss, but it wasn't important now. What was important was that he hadn't fallen into it, wasn't even near it anymore; that the indomitable woman who was Hermione Granger had grabbed his hand and pulled him back and hadn't let go as she'd raced with him away from the bottomless chasm that had threatened to eat away the very foundation of his existence, through a dark forest of doubt and now up the mountain they were climbing together toward what he fervently prayed was some greater beyond.

"So am I," he said hoarsely, blinking back the emotion that burned at his eyes.

Blaise's shoulders slumped slightly and his now deeply concerned gaze shifted to Pansy. "Dear god, bird. Don't tell me you've been with those demons as well—"

Pansy shook her head quickly. "No. I was with My. Not… who you just met. But the My we knew."

"And you're telling me she never had you sexually violated for the sheer pleasure of it?" he asked bluntly.

At once, Draco was again gripped by an unexpected strangling of his throat, panic that made air difficult to come by and the urge to vomit up what very little was in his purposely empty stomach; he gripped his hands tightly, forcing himself to breathe, as Pansy gasped at the question herself.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Blaise! Why would you ever say such a thing?"

Blaise's voice was tight with anger. "Because I've seen what happens to House-Witches, bird. And some… House-Wizards, as well," he said in a low voice, glancing at Draco as he said it.

Draco swallowed hard, trying to steel his expression to belay nothing else to his friend's probing gaze. He'd already seen far too much.

Pansy sounded horrified. "No! I… I never even thought… Sometimes she'd make comments but she never…"

As she shook her head, staring off in the distance at well-buried memories, Draco exhaustedly sank back down onto the bed, burying his face in his hands, and sucked in several deep breaths, trying to clear his head. Between Weasley and the cage bars and now, he felt mentally battered, and his heart ached. He'd thought nothing could be worse than solitary confinement, not even knowing if any others like him were even still alive, but surely being well aware they were yet being powerless to stop their torture and assault directly in front of him on a regular basis would have equated the worst kind of emotional agony.

And the fact that it was happening to everyone they had known…

Pansy seemed baffled now. "Now that you say it, I really don't even think she'd have cared if I had been. Oh sweet Merlin." She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, her face ashen. "Why — Why do you suppose she didn't?"

Draco took a breath and sat up, wrapping his arm around her back and rubbing it reassuringly as he pulled her close. "Who knows the way that selfish woman's mind worked?" he said. "I'm just so grateful nothing like that happened to you, Pans. I'm so bloody grateful."

"And she didn't…?" Blaise trailed off, gesturing tensely at his damaged cheek.

Pansy shook her head. "Nothing like it seems you've had — the both of you. I was just a shadow." She briefly closed her eyes, her voice filled with grief. "From the sounds of it, I may need to be a bit more relieved that's all I was."

Blaise began to pace, running his hands over his smooth skull in an unconscious motion that surely remained from having a lifetime of thick curls. "This — This is insane," he said, shaking his head. "I can't even — When that toff-faced bastard — when he bought me I thought for sure it was over. That it was only going to get fucking worse, but now…" He spun back toward them. "Shite. You cannot bloody tell me the offspring of Evil Incarnate's working with us."

Beside him, Draco saw Pansy stiffen and shift uncomfortably, so he spoke up. "Blaise, mate, take a breath," he said evenly. "You'd be surprised at the amount of hatred even Evans has toward the Sovereignty."

"Why, as a matter of fact, yes, I would be! We might as well be a lost cause, while Lord Shoe-In For The Next Shacklebolt is the most bloodthirsty Elite in this place! He's his dear ole mummy in man-form—"

"No, he isn't!" Pansy burst out.

Blaise stared at her, while she gazed back at him with burning eyes welled with furious tears. "You don't know anything about him, Blaise Zabini, so don't you dare judge him like that!"

His gaze lingered on her in astonishment for another few seconds, his muscles visibly tensing and coiling up like a serpent. Draco quickly stood in anticipation of the storm that was coming a split second before Blaise vehemently cursed.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

Draco shoved his way between them. "Blaise, stop! Don't do this until you know everything!"

"There's nothing else I need to know! Our childhood friend is apparently — what," he addressed her, "is it just an infatuation, some kind of sexual agreement or true lurve — with sodding Evil-Eyed Evans! The Silent Scourge! What in the name of this hell we live in are you thinking? Or aren't you? Draco, please, please tell me you've checked her for Amortentia, for the Imperius Curse, for any—"

Abruptly, Draco's world went black, and he fought to breathe as the familiar discomfort of being squeezed through a tube 1/4 his size caught him off guard; a second later, he landed with a hard thud on the floor of Tribute A's common room… and into the middle of chaos.

Beside him, Pansy was crying, and a few feet away near the Tribute's front entrance, Hermione was standing arguing with someone.

Draco held back a groan when he saw who it was.

Oh, for the love of all things good…

"—here? You said you'd give us at least another ten minutes!" she was saying.

"Well, your worrying head can make that thirty; Snape intercepted us and Weasley's off with him now!" Harry Evans looked toward them, and froze when he saw Pansy. For the briefest of seconds, he looked uncertain, but the immensely rare lapse vanished almost as quickly as it appeared and he strode to her without a single glance toward Draco or Blaise, gently lifting her up off the ground. "Liv! Liv, what happened? Are you hurt?"

Pansy simply flung her arms around his neck, sobbing.

Somewhere nearby, someone let out a snarl.

Oh hell.

Draco scrambled to his feet and lunged forward to grab Blaise, but he darted away with an agility Draco no longer had and pulled Pansy back far enough to punch Evans solidly in the face. Pansy let out a shriek as Evans hit the ground holding his nose, blood already spurting from it.

"Blaise!" Hermione shouted, leaping forward with her wand extended as Blaise again lunged toward Evans' prone body.

Draco grabbed his arms, wrestling him away before Hermione could use a spell to do the same. "Merlin, mate, get a hold of yourself!"

Blaise ignored him, struggling so powerfully against his grasp that Draco was grateful when Hermione lowered her wand and raced to his side to try to physically hold the taller wizard back. Even still, he managed to drag the both of them several feet across the floor. "How d'you like how that feels, master?" he sneered down at Evans. "Want a go at Round 3?"

"Blaise, stop it!" Pansy yelled.

"Christ," Evans grunted in a nasally voice with far more restraint than Draco had expected, still pinching his nose as he accepted Pansy's help to stand. "I'll grant you, once, I deserved that punch, but none of this other bollocks!"

"Oh, will you 'grant me' that?" Blaise snarled acerbically. "Your blood-covered hands don't deserve to even touch her!"

"Mr. Zabini, Mr. Evans, control yourselves immediately!"

Draco twisted his head to see Tom Riddle swiftly descending the stairway behind them with a goblet and a small silver bowl in hand.

Blaise's mouth instantly dropped. "Ho-ly shite…"

"I have little doubt your reintroduction to the resistance has been a somewhat disconcerting and perhaps alarming adjustment for you," Riddle continued, setting the bowl on the same table on which he and Draco's father occasionally played chess, "but in this moment I will need peace and order to cast these spells successfully."

The fight in Blaise's arms drained away; the moment it did, Draco released him and stepped back. Hermione glanced over at him once before she did the same, and leaned toward him. "Thank Merlin for impeccable timing," she whispered.

"Now, we're going to need a bit more space…" Riddle waved his hand, and every other piece of furniture in the rotunda aside from the small table was shoved to the side.

"Merlin's bollocks, Draco, why didn't you tell me Tom Riddle was still with the sodding land of the living and right here — wherever the fuck 'here' is?" Blaise hissed excitedly in his ear. "I would have come a hell of a lot quicker!"

Draco held back a small smile. "Be honest: Would you really have believed any of this fifteen minutes ago?"

Riddle turned to Hermione and held out a slim, dark book. "Read the Second. You're doing it."

She looked up at him in shock. "But you didn't you have a Second the last time, did you?"

His lip quirked upward slightly. "As you may recall, there were two of me."

Hermione's eyes widened, possibly at the idea she'd have to match the magical prowess of Tom Riddle, even though Draco had faith she could. As she flung open the book, frantically flipping to a bookmarked page, his dark gaze shifted to Evans, Blaise and Draco. With an almost distracted jab of his wand's tip, Evans's nose healed instantly; another and Blaise's facial structure returned to its normal shape, though the bruises still lingered.

"Pansy," he said smoothly, causing her to jump slightly. He held out his hand to her. "Come now. Let's get you first."

Pansy swallowed nervously, and Evans rubbed her shoulder reassuringly, approaching Riddle alongside her. Blaise followed their advance with eyes spitting fire, every muscle in his neck popping angrily.

"What's this consist of?" Evans grunted.

"A channeling of the elements combined with traditional magic," Riddle said, leading Pansy toward the center of the room and gesturing for her to sit on the floor. The resistance leader crouched beside her, holding out the goblet; from this angle Draco could see it was filled with amber liquid. "It's fairly straightforward but may make you mildly uncomfortable while I'm doing it, so for your own enjoyment, I strongly advise a sleeping draught."

Pansy looked at Evans uncertainly; he seemed as tense as she did, but he nodded at her. "I'll be right here the whole time, Liv. You've got one of the strongest wizards in the world doing the hard work — You'll be up and about again before you know it."

Draco watched their exchange with fascination. He hadn't often had the chance to see them interact like this, but when he did, it was always the same: gruff Evans being incredibly gentle and considerate and radiating sincerity of intention while he did. He glanced at Blaise, but his eyes were narrowed; he didn't seem to be buying a second of it.

Draco sighed.

Pansy swallowed hard again, nodding, and took the goblet from Riddle.

"Four sips," he advised.

She cautiously assessed the liquid before drinking some of it. "Right then," she said with a nervous laugh. "I suppose my part in this really is the easiest, isn't it?"

"Very much so," Riddle said reassuringly with a smile that radiated confidence, taking the cup back from her grasp while Evans eased her to the ground. The potion must have been blessedly strong; within less than 20 seconds, she appeared entirely unconscious.

Hermione, meanwhile, had carried Riddle's bowl to Pansy's side and had knelt on the ground beside her. She dipped her hand into what appeared water and then traced her fingers lightly down then length of Pansy's face from her forehead to her chin and then across her cheekbones, chanting under her breath. Rather than gravity taking its natural course, the trail of liquid remained in a straight, clear line across the peak of Pansy's features.

Draco recalled that Hermione had once described the magic required to cast the Shadow Double enchantment as extremely dark. "This doesn't simply make you mildly uncomfortable, does it, sir?" he asked.

Riddle looked up at him. "If you aren't awake, it doesn't make you anything," he responded evenly.

Oh, bloody brilliant; that means it hurts like hell.

At that moment, Lucius hurriedly entered the back door, a larger basin filled with dirt and a number of tiny white flowers in his hands, and it reassured Draco greatly to have another familiar face nearby for whatever was about to transpire. "I've got enough—"

Lucius looked up and noticed them then; he stopped walking abruptly. "Oh, thank Merlin you're all here and safe. You are alright, aren't you, Draco?" he asked, and Draco nodded with a weak smile, still getting used to his father's presence and concern himself.

Blaise clutched his arm. "Sodding Salazar! Draco! He looks just like—"

Lucius looked over at him. "Ah! And you must be Mr. Zabini. Please, call me Lucius — I'm Draco's father. Draco, you must introduce us properly once this all is over."

"Ho-ly shite…" Blaise breathed again as Lucius turned back to Riddle and reported, "I suspect I've brought along enough earth to cover half the floor of this room, and the boneset, straight off the stem…"

In spite of his sympathy to the sheer systemic shock the last half day must have been to his friend, Draco couldn't help but smile as he leaned over to an openmouthed Blaise and whispered, "Another blatant Sovereignty lie. He wasn't quite as dead as we were told, thank Merlin and all the ghosts…"

Riddle waved his wand, lifting a fraction of the nearly black soil from the bowl and forming it into a perfect, thin circle on the floor around Pansy. Hermione placed her silver bowl on the earthen ring at Pansy's feet and positioned herself sightly outside it, while Riddle moved to stand at Pansy's head.

Draco felt the briefest of small breezes lift and lower his hair, and Riddle shifted his gaze toward the side of the room he and Blaise were standing, along with Evans and Lucius. "Gentlemen — For your own safety, you'll be unable to approach within five feet until the enchantment is complete."

"I don't know about you, but that just did wonders for my nerves going into this," Draco said to Blaise in a low voice, truly glad to have his friend back and standing beside him, seemingly in much better condition than Draco himself was.

"Since I know sod all about what's happening right now, the only halfway reassuring thing about this is that Tom Riddle's the wizard about to cast elemental magic over my unconscious body," Blaise muttered back.

Riddle looked across the circle to Hermione. "Are you ready for this?"

In response, Hermione lifted her wand and gave a firm nod.

Riddle clearly needed no other sign. "Then begin."

"Don't you dare muck this up, Granger," Draco heard Evans mutter from a few feet away.

Hermione ignored him and again began to chant; the words were different but vaguely familiar, and he recalled them as the Ancient Runic terms for the four elements. Flames flared to life from the bowl at her feet, spilling out to follow the circle of dirt until Pansy was encased in a ring of fire. The water along Pansy's face and nose began to slowly rise, the discrete, shimmering droplets floating above her.

"Stronger, Hermione," Riddle said.

Raising her wand, she began chanting louder, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

Blaise's hand again dug into his arm. "Shite, shite, shite, Draco, this is a big deal! Why on earth is My Granger even holding a wand doing Ancient Runic spellwork with Tom Riddle?! Why can't it be your father?"

"My father's still recovering; he hasn't quite gotten a hold on his magic yet," Draco muttered, and had to all but extract Blaise's rigid fingers from his skin with a wince. "It'll be alright, mate! Unlike My, Hermione's a brilliant witch!"

"What? What does that even mean—?"

A sudden, powerful gust of wind swept through the Tribute's closed interior, and the flames abruptly blazed to a hellish inferno as tall as Hermione herself, the orange glow alighting her determined elvish features.

"Ho-ly shite!"

Draco forced himself to breathe very evenly, clenching his fists, as he stood, transfixed, before the dancing conflagration. Suddenly, a comforting hand rested on his shoulder, and he barely restrained a shudder of surprise. He turned to see his father's reassuring form standing beside him. "She'll be fine, son. Both of them will be."

Draco nodded tightly, giving him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Father. It isn't — I know, I just - I don't… particularly... fancy fire."

He tried not to pay attention when his father's eyes analyzed him closely at this admission.

"Good, Hermione," Riddle called across to her. "How are you handling it?"

She bit her lip, her gaze focused on the thread of golden light flowing from her wand. "If you're asking me that because you need more power, I feel like I've — I've hit a wall!" she admitted breathlessly.

"That's fine. Harry, step in and join her. Link yourselves so the spell recognizes your joint magic as a single addition."

Evans instantly drew his wand, his towering dark form dwarfing Hermione's. The two of them exchanged a tense glance before they rigidly gripped each others' wrists and resumed the chant together. Another gust of wind abruptly howled past so forcefully that the three men watching had to swiftly grip each other's arms to keep from sweeping forward along with it, and the top of the raging inferno shot clear up to the first floor.

Riddle must have deemed this sufficient, because he reached his hand straight into the flames, pointing his wand at Pansy herself and speaking a constant stream of Latin too quick for Draco's ears to follow over the roar of the fire. Through the wall of flames, Draco could just make out Pansy's horizontal body rising into the air. Abruptly, her chest lurched upward, and a fine black mist streamed from it into the air like a great cloud of locusts, curling toward the top of the Tribute with all the ominousness of a diabolical spirit.

Draco's stomach lurched, and Blaise cursed loudly again and gripped his arm. Enough adrenaline was pumping through his system that Draco wondered if it might floor him before the Sleeping Draught did, and he desperately tried not to think about the fact that he would soon be the subject of the same nightmarish vision.

It was very clear that Riddle was being extremely kind when he'd allowed Pansy to go first.

Then, just as quickly as the elements had flared, the raging fire snuffed in a heartbeat and the black cloud vanished. Pansy's unconscious form gently floated to the ground, no worst for the wear.

"That's it?" Hermione gasped, breathing hard, while Evans briefly bent double, his hands on his knees.

Riddle's head was bowed and he was rubbing his forehead, his eyes closed; it was the most spent Draco had ever seen the powerful man appear after completing a single spell. After a moment, he nodded the affirmative. "That's it. Very good, you two. Elemental magic is notoriously difficult to summon with the potency required here; many much older wizards could not have done what you just have. Harry, please move Pansy to that couch temporarily, or her room if you can be quick about it. As I understand, efficiency here is key."

"Already done."

As Harry knelt by Pansy's side, carefully scooping her up in his arms, Riddle's dark gaze turned toward Draco and Blaise. Draco's chest instinctively clenched, while Blaise took a small step backward.

Riddle smiled. "Draco. Nice night for a drink, isn't it?"

Draco felt positively ill, but he somehow managed to grin and get out a feeble, "Absolutely cracking, sir," before his father gripped his shoulder tightly.

"You won't remember a thing, Draco. I didn't," Lucius said was an encouraging smile. Then he frowned. "Then again, I suppose I've also been abnormally adept at forgetting things I should have remembered…"

A strangled laugh emerged from Draco's throat, because really, what else could he do at that point? "Thanks for that encouragement, Father," he said, and meant it even if it came out a bit wry.

Blaise patted his shoulder for good luck, but his eyes were following Evans' every move as he made his way from the Tribute cradling Pansy's sleeping form in his arms. "You cannot tell me he's letting that Sovereignty scum just take — Shite, he is!" he exclaimed as Evans disappeared out the door. "He's got her and she's bloody unconscious, Draco!" he exclaimed tightly. "D'you think - Can I - I mean, am I allowed to follow them?"

Draco was too tired, shaken and distracted to try to reason with him. "Blaise, you're free to do what you want, but—" As Blaise immediately set off toward the door, he muttered, "Not if you're going to be an arse about it." He let out a breath. "Do try to remember we need Evans alive to help ourselves with this spell!" he called after him.

When Draco turned back around, he saw Riddle was observing them closely from the middle of the room — getting a feel for the new dynamic, perhaps. He nervously approached the circle's center, gripping his hands to keep them from shaking.

Riddle greeted him apologetically. "The Glamour charm will unfortunately need to go, Draco. Its presence will only confuse the Shadow."

Draco pretended to check his nonexistent watch. "But Fairy Godfather, I've got at least three more hours until midnight."

The dark-haired man laughed, his wand half-raised. "Well, if you work very hard tomorrow, and scrub all the floors and counters and even the ceilings while you're at it, I may just be convinced to transfigure you a suit of your own."

"A suit of my own!" With faux-earnestness, Draco placed his hand on his heart. "Good sprite, your generosity knows no bounds!"

Riddle shook his head with a chuckle. "Facing my wand with a laugh. You're a braver man than many, Draco Malfoy." With that, he transfigured the most expensive-looking clothing Draco had ever worn into the ratty gray shirt and tattered pants Weasley must have seen when he'd looked at him earlier that evening. What most people saw when they looked at him.

Back with the riffraff yet again, he sardonically thought with a small sigh.

He gingerly sank to the floor at the circle's heart, pulling his knees to his chest as Riddle went about resetting the soil boundary. A towering wall of flame danced before his eyes.

Just don't think about it, just don't think about it…

A hand on his back and the scent of roses drew him from his apprehensive wait, and Draco gratefully looked over at Hermione as she crouched down beside him.

"Here we go," she said with an encouraging smile, holding out the the goblet of Sleeping Drought.

Draco glanced at it and then looked away disinterestedly, waving his hand. "Take it away; I prefer a minimum 60-year-old Scotch when I retire for the evening," he said pretentiously.

Hermione laughed. The sound was light, lovely, and it caused him to automatically smile and look back at her. "Draco, sometimes I haven't the slightest idea of how you manage to keep your humor even when the entire world seems like it's turned on its head, but I hope you know I admire you so much for it."

A pleased flush spread up his neck, this time thankfully hidden in the dimmer light, and the corners of his lips tugged upward a bit diffidently as he took the goblet from her. "I've found as long as I have even the faintest glimmer of hope, I somehow have humor along with it," he admitted.

Her brow furrowed, and he knew the question coming even before she spoke. "And has there ever been a time you... haven't had your humor?" she asked carefully.

Draco stared down at the viscous liquid, gripping the cup tightly. "Once or twice." He lifted his head, looking over at her again with a faint smile. "But I was very thankful to discover that neither ever remained lost indefinitely."

He briefly glanced over at Riddle, but the older wizard had begun talking with his father, and Evans and Blaise hadn't returned yet (he tried not to think about how that little trip was going). Given that, Draco didn't see the need to fling himself into unconsciousness like he was actually eager about doing this… especially not when the presence of a Sovereignty official at Hogwarts meant that the window of time Hermione would have to come down to the Chamber of Secrets safely in the future might be severely shortened.

He turned back to her, lowering the goblet of sleeping draught to his side. "You were amazing back there," he told her frankly.

She let out a frustrated sigh. "I wish I'd been able to hold my half of it on by myself. It's a bit humbling, isn't it? Being reminded you do have limits that other wizards have been able to surpass."

"I would insert 'only a few' before 'other,'" Draco said with some amusement. "Hermione, elemental magic's no walk in the park. And Riddle does have 50-odd years of experience on you, you know—"

"—told you do not talk to me, Zabini!" Evans stormed back into the Tribute, his wand clutched in a tight fist. "Believe me when I say the only reason I haven't cursed you from here to high heaven is because you're her ruddy friend!"

"Oh, is it really? That didn't stop you before, did it, you Phoenix-pandering bastard!"

"Gentlemen!" Lucius exclaimed with a horrified expression. "Downright unsporting behavior, the both of you! We are allied against a common enemy! Where is your civility?"

"That appears to be going well," Hermione commented.

Draco let out a small snort and shook his head. "Yeah, about as well as a Dementor raising a Puffskein."

"Oh god, the poor thing would wither and die within seconds." She began to knead his tense shoulder nearest her with a breath-stopping firmness, and Draco desperately tried not to be pathetically obvious as he melted beneath the massage of her obviously skilled fingers. "I expect we'll be starting soon, with Harry back. You aren't nervous, are you?"

His jitters returned just as quickly as they'd been distracted.

"Nervous? Of course not," he said, trying not sound as jumpy as he felt. "Dark magic, raging fire, gale force winds, black particles of pseudo Draco floating off to reconstruct a pseudo me somewhere else entirely… What could possibly go wrong?"

Hermione met his apprehensive gaze firmly. "Absolutely nothing." She smiled slightly, hesitated, then leaned closer to his ear. "This would be the part where I - I might... kiss you if I knew it'd get your mind off this," she murmured, her expression a bit shy, "but considering that Blaise has just shifted his ire from Harry to us — no, don't look at him, he's already burning a hole in our heads!" she whispered hurriedly as Draco stiffened and started to look around,"—I suspect that may best be saved for a slightly less public location after this wears off." She lay a finger on the rim of the cup.

Draco's heart began racing for another reason entirely. He gulped in a breath and shook his head. "It's alright. It isn't you he wants, it's me." He paused. "Well actually…" he reconsidered, and Hermione started laughing again. He was honestly astonished at how openly affectionate she had been with him that entire evening. That she thought of him highly enough to willingly share that side of herself with him kindled a deep warmth inside his chest, and, for the moment at least, it dampened the nervous energy flooding his system.

He smiled at her warmly, lifting the half-filled goblet toward her. "To after, then."

She mirrored his smile. "To after."

This was no normal sleeping draught; the bitter potion slid down his throat with the potency of imported 160 proof Everclear, which Weasley had gleefully forced down Draco's throat on at least three occasions (and even those memories were mere flashes at best) to entertain himself with the results.

The recollection caused him to go rigid as his head began to swim, something Hermione must have noticed. "I won't let anything happen to you," she promised, helping him lay flat on the icy floor.

He clung to her gaze as the corners of his own began to blacken and narrow and his eyelids grew dreadfully heavy. "I know."

The last two things of which Draco was blissfully aware were her beautiful, focused brown eyes and the cool touch of her fingers tracing water down his face and over his lips, before everything faded to black.

---

A/N: You know that warm, fuzzy feeling (or conversely that feeling of 'oh god, what's she going to put us through now' dread) you get when you see that Reverse has been updated? That's how I feel when I receive each and every one of your reviews! It just takes a second but it means the world to me, and gives me some idea you're still reading. So please leave one! :)

Next chapter takes us back to the prophecy arc!